Unencumbered
by HelloJudy
Summary: Buffy realizes her feelings and wants to express them physically to a reluctant Spike..."I love you," she whispered near soundlessly. "Don't be afraid to touch me."


Buffy/Spike fanfiction [7/07/03] set mid-season 7 (Characters belong to Whedon and ME. Deepest thanks to ~Xionin~ who came up with the idea for this fic and helped me through the writer's block)  
  
UNENCUMBERED  
  
They patrolled the cemetery beneath the twilight of the seamless, black sky, crunching the crisp green grass underfoot with each easy stride. Leaves murmured, buzzing with secrets in the light breeze around them, and gravestones stood solid for those long faded. This was their true element, comfortable in the mysterious dark between dusk and dawn, watching for the blood thirsty threat that has become the ordinary to them burst from the earth.  
  
But what was odd to Buffy was that this wasn't odd at all. That being with Spike this way, intimately causal, explaining her day counseling sullen teenagers and having a heated discussion about which is the best battle weapon, would feel nice-no, she corrected. This felt so.right.  
  
They even spent the last half hour in the silent night, laughing reminiscently about yesterdays that happened forever ago. And in that forever ago, where they'd grate each other's nerves, she never would've thought, not even in her wildest dreams, a connection like this would prove itself to ever exist and make her feel warm and fuzzy as she does now; and least of all, she thought with a half smile, with her enemy or, actually, her former enemy who, at his own will and love for her, suffered for his soul. Yup, never in her wildest dreams.  
  
But here they were, strolling almost shoulder to shoulder as if born friends, while he kept her interested with an anecdote about a demon of mutual acquaintance. She'd glance at him as they walked to show he had her attention and because the look of him captivated her. She quietly studied him; how his pale skin marbleized in the moonlight, smooth over sharp as blades cheekbones, and his eyes like delicate crystal shimmering in the effulgence.  
  
Their knuckles would brush against each other, and though it went unnoticed to him, that slightest of touches had her fingers curling into fists, clenching and unclenching that dug tattered nails into her palms as she fought the urge rattling her bones to simply link her hand with his. He'd take it, she knew, which made it all the more unbearable. She knew he'd open, hold and cherish her tiny hand as if it were clouds, pure and white from the heavens he'd never known, intertwining his fingers.  
  
"I've never really looked at the sky, before that night," he continued while crickets chirped like bed springs under wild lovers. "Not really. Hell of a thing to miss, that: a blanket of stars so vast and thick it made m'hairs stand on end. Mind you, I wasn't about wax on existentialist and what-not, but still."  
  
She crossed her denim covered arms over her ribs, telling herself it was the late night chill prickling her skin, not his voice, warm and soothing like brandy and silk wrapping her body. But the foreign yet cozy sensations reaching to the tips of her toes rejected her brain's pretense, and she tightened her arms in reply.  
  
Observing the movement, he paused with concern. "You're cold."  
  
"No, I'm fine." She said easily over her shoulder, assuming he'd accept her excuse.  
  
"Buffy, unless you're trying t' converse with the crickets using that rare- but-impressive chattering teeth technique, I'd say you're lying through your pearly whites. Now, come 'ere." And in an attentive and chivalrous gesture natural to him, he began to shrug out of his leather duster for her to wear.  
  
She said nothing. Her heart filled.  
  
Then they suddenly froze, her moment interrupted. Their gazes scanned across the area in sharpened awareness sensing shift in the cool air. The cemetery was seemingly still except for creatures four legged and furry scuttling in trees and bushes, but it was instinct and experience that warned them of something else lurking deep in the calm shadows surrounding them.  
  
Prowling the dark was threat.  
  
"Did you hear that?" She said when an owl hooted; it's echo then disappearing beyond the distance to perished silence once again.  
  
"Yeah," he said surveying the grounds knowing she wasn't referring to the owl's call. "We're not out of business after all. I think it might 'ave come from-"  
  
Buffy stepped back startled when a vampire jumped Spike from behind, landing at her feet with a torrent of blows to his leather clad back. Steadying herself, she planted a foot into the ground, using her other to kick the vampire's side and sent him tumbling off her companion.  
  
Spike whipped his head up freeing an irritated growl, and after morphing into game face revealing pointy fangs and glowing yellow eyes, pounced with a speed that gave his assailant no room to retaliate.  
  
Buffy drew out her stake with out thinking, her deceivingly dainty fingers clutching the familiar wood just when another vamp, female in cheap red lace, dropped in as if from no where. They exchanged blows, blocked kicks from all angles, inflicted pains to shoot up their limbs attempting to retard the opponent. But it was the Slayer who never lost a battle, especially those most routine.  
  
She drove the stake into the vamp's chest, grunted when the fatal tip punctured the dead organ that had the vamp-ho exploding into ashes. But Buffy didn't catch the third vampire that suddenly popped up beside her, knocking her to the unyielding earth. It wasn't in the Slayer's nature to panic though, at least not with run of the mill vampires, and instead she instinctively planned on using her leg to sweep under him.  
  
Until Spike appeared behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and hurling him away from her.  
  
Something she couldn't describe happened to her once he intervened, and laying back on her elbows watching him fight, the moment brief and his motions at regular speed, the seconds had seemed to stretch.  
  
She stared with creased brows his movements calculating yet stylishly swift, and his leather duster, offered to her minutes before, reflected gleams of moonlight as he maneuvered. Her mind had focused on only him, drowning out everything else, forgetting the grass tickling her wrists, the panting for much needed air, that her no nonsense ponytail had loosened.  
  
All that remained was realizing she was desperately in love with him.  
  
"Oh my God," she said in releasing a shocked breath.  
  
In awe, she continued to watch him as he dispatched of the fledgling and dusted the remains from his hands with no small amount of annoyance. Self consciousness aside, she didn't even recoil after he muttered curses under his breath and turned to find her still planted on her butt in the ground.  
  
The sight of her had his mood shifting from distaste to concern just as quickly as he slipped out of game face, and then, once his senses were satisfied that any more threat was no where near, approached her. Her gaze followed him, and when he then stood above her with arms extended, her gaze sustained unflinchingly to his eyes as she clasped his forearms for balance and rose.  
  
"You alright luv?" He asked while the worry set deep in his brow also had his own gaze browse over her for any injuries. "Slayer?"  
  
Her response was silence, but it wasn't that that had his forehead crinkling in confusion and tightening his hold on her elbows for reassurance. It was the intensity of her eyes, misty green like grass in early morning dew, penetrating as though she had never seen him before, when in actuality, she was finally seeing him for who he really is and what that meant to her.  
  
"I love you," she said in a short breath, the sound of her own words a surprise to her as much as it was to him.  
  
With his head slightly tilted, he refused to budge or to blink her away, afraid that this was just another creation from his days awake with longing. A taunting illusion that would vanish once he wanted more.  
  
But the earth was solid beneath him, the night air cool, the moon brilliant. Certain of these things, he knew she was real and her words genuine. Yet, he wouldn't blink. His jaw dropped though, then said what first came to mind. "I love you too."  
  
She nodded, "I know," she had always known. And because he did, she wanted so much to close her mouth over his and erase the minutes. But the shock at the realization still fresh, reason encumbered impulse.  
  
His mouth opened, about to speak again, but abruptly she broke from him. "Wait. Don't say anything."  
  
Startled and confused, he followed her as she stalked away. "Buffy, you tell me you love me, and finally accept that I bloody well love you and what? I'm supposed to say 'oh jolly good then' and keep my mouth shut?"  
  
Tense and suddenly uncomfortable with herself, she turned. "No. Yes. I mean.I'm sorry. I know I'm being difficult; it's just that this is new to me and I need to think. So," her voice softened to almost a plea, "let's go home, ok?"  
  
Obeying, he understood and let the debate fall. Together they walked home in silence.  
  
* * * * * In the privacy of her bedroom, where moonlight filtered through the window into square patterns on her tidily made bed, she stood in front of the mirror and though her reflection stared at her, it was truth, clear and obvious as her image, she faced.  
  
She loves Spike and, unsurprisingly, felt no shameful need to cringe at her admission. It didn't matter to her that once upon a time they had many, unfinished fights to the death or when their relationship turned darkly complex and violent. He's different now. She's different.  
  
Because of his unconditional love for her and his perseverance for truth, they have survived both the outer and inner demons that had prevented them from fully recognizing the connection that had always lain. If anything, their layered history would make what she decided to do all the more special.  
  
She was going to give herself to him in the most intimate way a woman can to the man she loves.  
  
And with this choice, derived from the feelings recently realized, came a new empowerment, a confident strength gained from only love, that wouldn't be wavered by reasons or questions or doubt. She knew all too well of Fate's cruel sense of humor and refused to squander another precious moment in denial before They'd have a chance to toy with her again.  
  
Exhaling, she was going to blindly follow her heart.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Spike was practicing his boxing techniques on the punching bag when he heard her walking down the basement staircase; the click of her heels echoing one after another to the sound of his grunts and smacking of knuckles to stuffed plastic.  
  
When she stood patiently at the bottom of the steps, he felt no other option but to turn his attention on her. Not quite sure what to expect from her, he leaned an arm on the bag and smiled faintly. He'd be patient as well, fearless of what's to come because whatever that may be, loving Buffy was enough for him.  
  
"Hi," she said a notch above softly. A single light was on; bright enough to not cast shadows over the lank muscles still rippling through his black t-shirt, yet not ruining the romantic atmosphere she anticipated would soon form around them.  
  
"Hi," he responded in the same volume. Her arms, draped in soft fabric the color of lilies, hung calmly at her sides. Though she was unreadable, there was no sign of the mask of cold indifference she'd mastered over her killing years. In fact, he didn't know that the way his teeth caught his bottom lip and how he angled his head as he watched her melted her insides like a burning candle.  
  
"I should apologize for being all snappy back there."  
  
He moved closer now, gingerly so she wouldn't fade away, cautiously because he dared himself to want more. "No need for that, luv." He averted his gaze, swept a nervous hand behind his head, understanding that some of her actions would be contradicted after a period of careful deliberation. "And I, uh, understand if there are any regrets."  
  
"No." She couldn't fight the flickering smile when his eyes met back with hers. "No more regrets."  
  
"Oh," the corners of his mouth quirked. "Then." He lowered his lips near hers, hovering tentatively and hesitant, sensitive to not frighten or coerce her to a place she did not want to enter.  
  
But it was her who pushed her mouth to his, surprising him as she had infinite times with infinite methods before.  
  
It was an ambush to his senses. And as her hands gripped his waist, he had no where but to lay his palms on her shoulders and surrender to the rich flavor of her he remembers in dreams that now flooded back into him, sweet and brutal as reality can sometimes be.  
  
She didn't expect to yearn so desperately for him, didn't plan on need leaping like a ravenous feline through her with a quickness that deleted the definition of slow.  
  
But when he had looked at her so gently, her heart couldn't wait a second longer and responded on impulse. Taking now as much as giving, her body weakened yet felt stronger than life, and ached for everything.  
  
He shoved himself away, her lashes fluttering at the sudden break. "Whoa." He backed up nervously, his head still reeling from the wonderful force of her kiss. "Don't take this the wrong way pet, that was.but I'm gettin' the feeling you wanna."  
  
"What?"  
  
He gestured emphatically, frantically glancing from wall to wall for the obvious. "Buffy, I know you're not daft enough for me to have to spell it out for you!"  
  
She bit her smile at his apprehension, finding she was enjoying this all too much. "You mean.sex?"  
  
"Well.yeah."  
  
"Spike," her voice became calmly seductive traced with playful amusement as she took three slow and fluid strides toward him. She had no intention of an apology because that would mean refusing the longing that teemed life of its essence and worth, to refuse living. She made this mistake before and vowed not to repeat herself again. "I meant what I said earlier and I think we should-"  
  
He evaded after she traced a finger down his sternum, rushing the blood from his head to below his belt. "But what about the others? Dawn! She- she could hear us." His sputtering fed her composure. And her want.  
  
With hands hooked behind her, she slinked forward, exuding an aura of sexual prowess that pushed him backwards like prey to be devoured. "Willow took everyone out. It should be another hour, hour and a half," she mused under low lids.  
  
"Really?" He shook, sandwiched between her and the punching bag. "That's quite a lot of time."  
  
Her darkened eyes lifted. "I know."  
  
He fell to the floor, the bag swinging in front of her, then he scrambled up quickly as though trying to save whatever dignity remained, knowing it had already fleeted to make an ass out of himself.  
  
She caught the bag between her fingers, concern now creasing her brows. "Spike? What's wrong? Why are you being so...fidgety?"  
  
He was tense, false defiance to hide the insecurities and the arousal racking him. "Ha! Me, fidgety?" He scoffed, his chin jutting up proudly. "I don't get fidgety!"  
  
"Don't you want me?"  
  
The question placed his discomfort on pause. "Buffy, you have no idea."  
  
"Then, what's matter? Why are you suddenly evaso-guy?"  
  
"It's different now...with the soul having, it came with new old memories and...and I'm not the man you once knew...you know...before."  
  
"You're all man to me," she said slyly, indulging in the would be blush of his cheeks if he wasn't such a bundle of nerves before returning to the matter at hand. "I know something's up that you're not telling me. So spill."  
  
"I don't wanna." It was a purely childish tone she thought adorable enough to want to snuggle up to him, but instead responded with her patented eyebrow arch and a cross of her arms. "Fine," succumbing, "well...like I said...about my soul and all, well, in my previous life, William, I-he, wasn't quite popular with the ladies...so I guess what I'm trying to explain is..."  
  
"William," her lips widened into a semi-teasing grin, "are you telling me you're a virgin?"  
  
He turned and paced in a small circle. "You make me sound so.wussy."  
  
She giggled. God, he was cute.  
  
"Hey!" The glare he shot her held no heat, but bruised male pride. "I'll have you know I was a right proper gentleman. A-a-and you of all people should know there's nothing virginal about the Big Bad.that is before the ensoulment I guess, but still."  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
Her words, and her smile that washed over him like a gust of warm wind, smoothed the tension stiffening his bones as he looked at her in total wonderment. "It doesn't?" He asked, voice subdued into the intimacy of hushed tones.  
  
She approached him; smile still bright on her face. "No," she said, chuckling at his newfound innocence, "it doesn't," and kissed him full on the mouth. With her body pressed against his chest, she dragged her kiss along the line of his jaw, to the tender spot under his lobe, nibbling there. "I think you're very cute," she mumbled to his ear, her breath skidding down his spine like teasing fingers.  
  
But he drew her back with a frown, "cute?"  
  
"Yes," she said before returning to his delicious neck and ear.  
  
"Well, 'cute' isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe myself." he muttered as he was half loosing himself to lust.  
  
"Oh, but you are. You are so adorable." She surfaced, her gaze lingering on his mouth. "Especially when you're fidgety." She brought her own mouth to his, but never touched because he evaded yet again, dancing away from her embrace.  
  
"Ok, ok. Alright. That might be the case, but Buffy...How could we...when I...what I did in the bathroom..."  
  
"Past," she said rolling her eyes and waving a dismissive hand towards the stairs. It was a memory unworthy of her, and wouldn't allow it to restrict her from love.  
  
"But..."  
  
"Present," she interrupted at length, stepping forward and circling her arms around his neck. "Future," she whispered to his lips before parting them with her own. She felt him relax and place his hands lightly on her hips. But when he broke the kiss with a sad sigh, she knew exactly what he was thinking and reminded herself to be careful with him.  
  
She looked into his eyes and felt the wings of a million butterflies flourish in her stomach. She felt alive. "You're right, it is different." To his surprise, she began unbuckling his belt.  
  
"Buffy.wha."  
  
"What we had last year came out of my own anger and I had no right to take that out on you." Ignoring his protest, she continued as she pulled out the belt and dropped it to the floor. "I was selfish," she unfastened his button, unzipped his fly, "too selfish to see how much you loved me." Her hands glided under his shirt where the ridges and planes of his chest rippled at her touch. "And respected me. I'm sorry," she said before lifting the fabric. "Now," she said as she pulled it over his head, "I want to make love to you." And when it fell to the floor, she stepped closer so that his mouth was a mere inch from her and slid her hand in his. "If you'll have me."  
  
A beat of heavy silence later, a smile lightened his face. "How could I refuse since you've stripped me near naked?" As laughter bubbled forth from them both, they wound their arms around each other taut, foreheads pressing, then relaxed with a warm sigh.  
  
When the laughter faded to a mere curve of lips, Buffy took Spike's hand and guided him to the bed where he then sat. But she stood before him, playfulness tucked away, serious now to finally add this new chapter to the story of their lives.  
  
She kicked off her heels, then unbuttoned her blouse to reveal a peach colored lace bra holding her supple, round breasts.  
  
His old, courtly values carried by way of his soul and basic respect for her had him squirm and adjust his position tensely; shutting his eyes where the warmth of her elicited vivid images of her naked body swaying in a crimson haze of passion.  
  
His eyes, heavy lidded, drifted open when her knuckles brushed the slope of his cheek, using an extreme gentleness that amazed him. "I love you," she whispered near soundlessly. "Don't be afraid to touch me." It was a promise and an invitation seamless into one, his heart aching to hear this from her lips, see the offering deep in her pasture green eyes.  
  
With that, he brought steady hands on her waist where he began to journey her torso. Her skin was like the finest of satin, he discovered in awe as he'd roam the subtlety of her curves, the ridges up her spine, the fragility of her form-not the enduring toughness of the Slayer, but the secrets and delicacy of a woman that can render any man to his knees.  
  
His hands were reverent and admiring, and even when they were filled with her breasts, he kneaded slowly as if trying to prolong the seconds for him to both wallow in and steal the softness.  
  
Her heart quaked under the tenderness and he felt as though he held it beating at the center of his palm. This overwhelmed him to near tears; that she loved him tremendously enough to offer him her vulnerability and complete trust. "Oh God, Buffy."  
  
She leaned down, her blond hair falling over their bare shoulders like a cape, and pressed her lips to his brow. After stripping off their remaining clothes, he laid on top her feeling that moist, simmering heat like an oven to his hot as coal bulge.  
  
He wanted to enter into the beyond, but again the same set of worries encumbered him from following his urges. Sensing this, Buffy wrapped her limbs around his firm body and nuzzled her face to his, intimate and reassuring that this is wonderful and would only get better.  
  
He brushed an 'I love you' across her lashes and when he slipped himself into her, they-in unison, released a long and intense sigh.  
  
The movement was awkward at first-for it has been awhile and so much has happened, but it didn't take long to remember their rhythm, to be swept heedlessly away and use firm thrusts and sensual hips to ride the current of their own tangled, repressed passions.  
  
Her breath blasted against his ear, arms were taut around his neck as though she were about to jump off the edge. It was all climbing inside her, one frenzied stack after another; everything that is them, the complexity of the past, the beauty of their future, steamily rose until she was blinded by the whitest of stars flashing behind her eyes and imploding her heart.  
  
He thought he knew madness. As he moaned wordlessness, he thought he knew the torture of it all too well in his century of unliving and yet again when he was instilled with the force of his soul. But, bracing her, she drove him to a new level of madness, a colorful swirl of blissful insanity high above doubts or expectations, scorching him alive. The world abandoned its meaning, dissolving away when he lost his mind again, lost himself in her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was an hour later when they heard the stomping of footsteps upstairs, the muffle of the girls' inane giggling as they rummaged through the kitchen, slamming cupboards and clattering dishes.  
  
"The troop returns. You think it's best for you to be headin' up to your room soon?" He asked in a husky, bedroom voice while he toyed with the strands of her blond hair. It was soft between his fingers and smelled sweet of vanilla.  
  
"No, why?" She wondered, noticing his hair was sexily tousled, and she took great satisfaction knowing she was the cause of it.  
  
He cupped her cheek, flushed with the after glow of love making, and found it too was soft and delicate. "It doesn't bother you that they'll wonder about us?"  
  
"Nope." She snuggled against his chest, pillowing her head perfectly on his shoulder. "They'll figure it out in the morning when you cook me breakfast and feed it to me."  
  
That made him smile. How he loved this woman.  
  
"Well," he shifted his weight so that he was on top of her and between her thighs again. The post sex exhaustion ebbed to quickly then be replaced by burning arousal.  
  
He kissed her this time and, she wasn't sure why, it surprised her. But she kept it quiet then eventually it disappeared when he trailed the kiss over her chin, his teeth scraping her exquisite flesh as he cruised down her throat. "I hope you're in the mood for waffles," he murmured before he plunged into her.  
  
Buffy held tight as she responded with a languorous moan of pleasure.  
  
fin 


End file.
